


Not saving Corporal Strider

by Miki_and_company



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Military, Ambiguity, Angst, Explicit content later on, Humanstuck, M/M, Mild Fluff, Militarystuck, Not Sadstuck, PTSD, Second Person, Slow Build, War, abundance of denial, fucked up mental stuff, lots of crying though, nobody gives a shit about the war, references to 1984, sassy but melancholic narrator, side characters aren't really props for the main romance, some violence i guess, unnamed plot relevant ocs, unspecified nationalities, war prisoners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miki_and_company/pseuds/Miki_and_company
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You got lucky. You got lucky that you fell prey to opponents who respected, to some extent, the rules of war. You're lucky you're not dead. Okay, you have no idea when or how you are going to get back home, you guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tag, you're out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leuzkra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leuzkra/gifts).



> If my calculations are exact, the length of this finalized fic should be around 30 000 words, more or less 5000. I'm passed the first 10 000.

All’s fair in love and war.

Yeah. Bullshit.

Truth is, in love and war, there are many ways to be completely unfair, there many rules to follow and no one to enforce them.

Only following them will make it less unnecessarily cruel. But it won’t prevent in any way pain, gain and greed.

But you got lucky. Because you fell into the hands of people who did follow the rules of war. If you hadn’t, you would be dead, simple as that.

Sometimes you would rather be dead. Rather be dead than still live every day is in the heat of that battle, rather be dead than living with the poor decisions you’ve made that got you captured in the first place. You and some private you had just met.

Oh, why did you follow her incredibly shitty plan, why didn’t you just refuse to lay down your arms and surrender? Why did you leave behind the two randos you had the charge of by virtue of your rank? What was their names again, Private Harley and Egbert? You hope they find a unit willing to take them in charge.

You are still confused. Still shocked, lost, since two days ago. Since the end of that battle, one that would go down in history, but mostly never leave you. You lost your entire unit then. Bodies, blood, gunshots, bombs, and then you were still there and the rest of your world wasn’t. That battle has been lost. You found three young privates, and they followed you, and Private Lalonde proposed a suicidal plan and private Harley and Egbert didn’t want to follow it but you did. And now you are walking, in custody of the enemy, towards whatever prison camp they fancy.

Trotting a little behind you, private Lalonde. Her blond, muddy hair is short. Strands of it sticks out of her helmet, covering her face. Her expression is stoic and her eyes scanning the ground in front of her. She is sweaty, and has bags under her eyes. You probably look exactly like her.

You had joined another group of new prisoners, who are walking alongside you and Lalonde. There is a guy, Corporal just like you, who is walking, simmering and defeated. His feet barely leave the ground as he walks, as if he could not escape gravity no more. He is the only non-bloody prisoner apart from you and your new subordinate.

Walking next to him, obviously exhausted but still standing straight, a young woman, private, with her whole uniform stained in dried and less dried blood. It did not seem to be hers, however as she showed no sign of harm.

In the enemy military cart rolling beside your group, three more soldiers bearing your country’s uniform.

Two women, severely injured, one with gauze over her eyes, shrieking, with a shrill but drained voice. The blood on her hands was dry, but the one that drenched the gauze was certainly not. The other one had only one eye covered, injured, but one of her arm is a bloodied mess and you can’t stare at it long enough to determine exactly how much damage it had suffered. She is clenching her teeth to avoid showing pain. And lastly, a prisoner in cuffs, looking dazed. Drugged?

From where you are standing, you can’t make out their ranks.

The purring of the engine, the steady tap tap of your feet, the quiet shrieking of the injured soldier, they accompany you for about an hour until you reach your destination.

It is a small village, occupied. Everywhere, military vans go about their business, mobilized civilians try and help as they can, enemy soldiers tend to their duties.

Your captors lead you to a hostel, where the apparent highest ranking one discusses for a while in a foreign language with the one stationed in front of it. You can’t grasp the words, but you can grasp the meaning. You can’t enter. You get redirected to a medium-sized factory, converted into an emergency hospital.

The cuffed prisoner is taken away, and the injured ones get in the procedures to get treated. The rest of you are made to sit and wait in some dimly lit room of the building. You look around, tense, but sit and remove your helmet nonetheless. You are exhausted. The group of prisoners and the two armed captors sit in an uncomfortable silence for a while. The sounds of the hospital run wild in the background. Sitting close next to each other, the unknown private and corporal occasionally murmur at each other.

Time passes.

An official enters. He looks tired and focused and has in his hands a wooden clip board on which slips of paper are held precariously. He walks towards you and instinctively you stand up and await command.

“Identification, please,” he says with a thick accent.

He looks expectantly at you.

“Corporal Dave Strider, Division A Section F unit 4. Age 21.”

He scribbles on a piece of paper, attached to a carbon copy, and once he’s done, he hands it to you. He keeps the carbon.

You take it. It is a prisoner ID. Along with the information you gave him, there is noted there your skin, hair and eyes colors, and the date of the day in the box labelled “date of capture”. He moves on to your misfortune companion.

“Identification.”

“Private Rose Lalonde, Division A Section F unit 6. Age 18.”

He hands her the paper. Not knowing what else to do with it, you fold yours and insert it in your chest pocket. You observe and hear the identities of your fellow prisoners.

“Corporal Karkat Vantas, Division A Section F Unit 12. Age 21.”

He almost shouts his answer. He seems to be too exhausted to be angry, but it is obvious he never really lower the tone of his voice. Shouting is just what he does.

“Private Kanaya Maryam, Division A Section F Unit 12. Age 19.”

Her pronunciation is clear and elaborate. You wonder how she does it.

Once everyone has their ID, the official leaves and you go back to your muted introspection. What will happen of you next is surely nor extraordinary nor fun. Neither of you is a high ranking official, neither of you is in a condition to protest or expect to be saved, exchanged. Not after a chaotic battle like a few days ago. All you have is patience and the Geneva Convention on War Prisoners. You know it only to the extent of what you should do in the event of a capture. Apart from surrendering and giving your name and rank when asked, there is not much of it that has any usefulness for you right now. There is only one instruction: wait.

And you wait. You don’t know how long, you don’t dare get your cellphone out of your pocket in fear that they will take it from you, even if you have the right to keep it. But you wait for a while. Maybe three hours, during the course of which not one word between you and someone else is uttered. Looks are exchanged, however, dubious, tense, understanding, desperate, hopeful.

After an eternity, the two injured women from earlier make their entry. They seem high on painkillers and the one with the former bloody arm simply has no more arm. She has an eyepatch and the other one still has gauze, but fresh one, better affixed.

“My eye is going to get better,” she croaks, “but my arm…well, my arm is done for!”

She giggles and it feels hysterical.

“Gone, poof! No more right arm!”

She wiggles her bloody and bandaged stump in front of the others, who look about to throw up. Especially Corporal Vantas. Private Maryam simply responds with a half-sorry, half amused glance.

Some clinical affiliate slips medical supplies to one of the guards and then withdraws. The one with gauze over her eyes also speaks to her teammates. Well, she bleats more than anything else.

“My eyes will not get better. They will start hurting less, but I will never see. I’m blind!”

She giggles along, but with no enjoyment. It is really more of a cough than a laughter.

The man from before comes back in the room, and asks for the missing information. The one with the amputated arm goes first.

“First Private Vriska Serket, Section F Unit 12. Age 17.”

Vantas corrects her,

“Serket, you are 19.”

“really?”

She seems genuinely confused, surely due to the medicine she was on. The staff member simply writes nineteen, undisturbed.

“First private Terezi uh….section something something, age, like Serket.”

“First Private Terezi Pyrope, same division, section and unit than myself, age 19,” specifies Corporal Vantas.

He detaches the IDs and places it directly into the injured prisoner’s pocket. He gets slapped violently when he tries to do it for Private Serket, who snatches it from him.

The group is finally allowed to leave. Your nostrils are filled with the scent of strong sanitizer and your eyes have white spots due to the poor lighting. Private Pyrope, unable to see, grabs your arm haphazardly and declares,

“oh, Karkat, you have no idea how it hurts.”

You blush and respond, urging yourself not to laugh at her forced dramatic tone,

“Sadly for you, poor unfortunate soul, I’m not Karkat.”

“A stranger? Friend or foe?”

“Prisoner, like you”

“ohhhh. And what kind of cool guy are you, war hero?”

“I am no war hero, private.”

“Oh, but you are. Because now, you are fighting the most corrupted evil of all.”

She leans towards you and whispers,

“Victor’s Justice.”

She grins and suddenly gasps.

“Private? You called me private, so you must be of a higher rank…what are you?”

“I am the commander in chief, of course, the most valued prisoner of all. Fear not, private, for in no time we will be exchanged against someone, surely high-ranking, but at all cost will we be saved.”

You like that girl.

“reeeallly?”

“Of course. What do you think I am? Mere corporal? I would never so blatantly lie to you, a poor, blind girl.”

“Oh I know you wouldn’t”

She screams in no particular direction,

“Karkat! Karkles! Look! We have a Commander in Chief with us! Everything will be fiiine.”

The guy, who just notices his subordinate clung to your arm snarls,

“Call me Corporal, Pyrope! Or Vantas at the very least! And just fucking let go of that guy! You don’t even know him!”

She frowns but let go of you.

“I may be blind but you are completely joyless.”

“Oh. Yes. Silly me. Prisoner, captured by the enemy, having lost half my unit, most my superiors, having failed, having seen death and violence, being at the mercy of authorities foreign to us, and forgetting to fucking smile! I sure am an ungrateful, joyless prick! Thank you for enlightening me with your behavioral insight, surely attributed to you by virtue of your newfound infirmity!”

The guy is not wrong.

“Well, at least we’re not dead.”

“Death is pretty much the least of my worries right now.”

You reach the edge of the village and get stuffed into a military truck. It drives away and you don’t know for how long. Now Terezi is sulking Corporal Vantas who alternates between bouts of sputter and silence. Lalonde, sitting beside you, leans her head on your shoulder. She is obviously very tired. Adrenaline, what had kept you awake until now, is declining rapidly and leaving all of you with a serious case of the snooze. Even the rugged travel of the military truck and the minimalist seats won’t keep your eyes from shutting at least temporarily. You have to fight to not fall asleep.

When you were first captured,it was morning. Now it is the middle of the night.

Lalonde has fallen asleep on one of your shoulder. Terezi is seriously threatening to do so on your other one and Corporal Vantas is staring at you and her with a very painful look. You wonder what exactly he has for her.

You shrug and ignore his plea. It is not as if you had any right to tell his subordinate what to do. It’s not as if he could tell you not to hit on his girlfriend or at the very least girl crush.

Maryam at least does not seem interested in you. She is very reserved, and at the very most she eyes Private Lalonde with an almost motherly look. Private Serket is mildly dozing. You take the opportunity to observe further your fellow corporal.

Karkat Vantas is not an ugly man. He is your age, apparently, and has a dirty skin, a button nose he keeps frowned like his eyebrows, thick black hair barely tamed by the likes of his helmet, and bags under his eyes the size of Russia. He is sat on the edge of the truck, and the moonlight dances off the sweat beads on his face. He is rather small, but also toned and obviously in shape. You understand how Terezi might find him attractive.

You think about yourself. You don’t find yourself unattractive, you have worked out all your life and are pretty muscular, though more in an endurance way than in a gun show fashion. You always wear shades. Always. They make you feel protected from the gaze of others and they kind of give you a certain Top

Gun look. You love that movie. Ironically, of course. All these heterosexual males in uniforms and playing volleyball and being in the army and shit.

You’ve never seen Top Gun.

But you sure as heck have heard of it. And seen Tom Cruise in it.

If you ever survive and get back home, you are so going to watch Top Gun.


	2. It's like summer camp!

You wake up at Dawn, as the truck slows down. There is some commotion. A huge building, with a penitentiary-style yard can be seen from where you are. Some people dressed in varying degrees of uniform, from yours or allied countries, take a casual stroll or talk in the yard. It is surrounded by a ten-foot tall fence topped with barbed wire. 

Soldiers urge you to get out of the truck. 

You calmly progress towards the entrance, and, big surprise, they make you wait. You wait. 

Patience. The best quality of all action and war heroes. 

Finally, they bring you in, you show them your ID paper, and they look at it and scribble in their journals, on their desk tops. The place is dingy, but not properly squalid. The building looks like an ancient factory from the outside, but when they lead you through the hallways, you realize it is in fact divided like a prison. Terezi asks out loud,  
“Is this a prison?”  
“Yes,”  
“ _Except in particular cases which are justified by the interest of the prisoners themselves, they shall not be interned in penitentiaries ___, Article 22 of the Geneva Convention treaty on war captives.”

She can quote the convention, unlike you who only knows its outline. Impressive. 

“Usually they put prisoners in camps.”  
“I think I’d rather be here, honestly,” Karkat interjects. 

You agree. The place isn’t a five star hotel, sure, but it seems fitted to accommodate your particular situation. Besides, the countryside is rather cool in the fall. And given you might be here for over a year, you’d rather not think of what living in a tent would imply in the winter. 

They split you up. Girls on one side, Vantas and you on the other. He tries to protest, but Terezi once again shuts him up with a quotation from the article,  
“ _In any camps in which women prisoners of war, as well as men, are accommodated, separate dormitories shall be provided for them. ___Chapter 2, article 25.Them's the breaks, Karkat.”

You are lead through multiple corridors before being presented with an open jail cell, complete with two beddings. Military beds, of course, but that is no different than what you had back on your own side. There is also a basic ceramic sink, with a yellowed bottom and visible plumbing, in the middle of the room, right under the small, barred window. The floor and walls are gray, to the surprise of no one. 

You take the bed on the right.  
“Thanks for consulting me on this, asshole.”  
“What? How is this even a problem? Dude, sorry, I didn’t know about your bed problems. How tactless of me.”  
You stand up and dramatically invite him to sit on the bed you were occupying. He sits on the other bed. Is the guy even really an adult?  
You sit back on the bed on the right.  
You take off your helmet and sigh. You also take off your jacket, to be only in your camisole and the lower part of your uniform. He only takes off his helmet.  
“That’s it dude. Our own little love nest. What wonderful memories will be made here?”  
“Shut up.”  
“I love you too.”  
“Keep that smooth talk for Terezi, won’t you?”  
Uh oh. You pressed a wrong button.  
“So what? Is she your girlfriend or something? I’m not even hitting on her!”  
“I don’t have to tell you that! And don’t lie in my face like that! I’m not the blubbering idiot you make me out to be!”  
“Oh alright believe what you want, point is I met her yesterday and I’m not sure I want my cellmate of an undetermined period of time jealous of me. I won’t even hit on her if you don’t want me. See? That’s how you become the bigger person, by not letting the unrequited pettiness of others make you angry.” 

He breathes angrily. 

You shrug. 

An officer or guard or supervisor of your block comes in with two towels, two bars of soap and two small razors. He, with gestures, indicates that you are strongly suggested to take a shower. You follow him to the sanitary blocks. 

It is a common area with bathroom stalls and lockers and a shower area with unseparated nozzles, not unlike the changing rooms of a public pool. 

Oh god, you are going to have to close your eyes every time you shower, aren’t you? 

You undress swiftly, and use the small and thin towel to cover your privacy. Only once directly under the nozzle do you untie it from your waist and let it rest on the thin pipes nearby. You let the cold stream pour on you without a flinch, but do relax imperceptibly when the water turns lukewarm. You hear the sound of another shower being turned on, but you don’t look. You know there is a guard right outside the changing rooms, and you would like to avoid embarrassment. You open your eyes only to pick up the soap and wash yourself. You use it for everything, from your hair to your feet, and you scrub with zeal. Your skin reddens, but at least it is clear from all impurities that could have been inflicted to you. Your hair is no longer muddy and the space between your toes is no longer a black hole of lint. It feels good, feels pure. You do all that quickly so you won’t get reprimanded, and once your hands turns off the tap, they reach for your towel. You dry yourself quickly and then places back the towel around your waist, where it belongs. Corporal Vantas is not done yet and you catch a glimpse of his rear nudity. You find no trouble in looking away or keeping a cool mind because you are highly trained in brushing aside those feelings. 

Your clothes are still dirty, so as soon as you put them back on, you feel somewhat less clean, but you have bigger concerns. 

_Your mind keeps freaking out for no reason. One second everything is fine, and the other you are under enemy fire, people die at your feet and you only have a few minutes to live. And then it gets a little better. But it stays at the back of your mind. Always._

Every time you see a rifle, a uniform, blood, the feeling comes rushing back to you. And god knows these are difficult to avoid around here.  
You get directed to a canteen, where all tables and chairs are empty but for the women who got here with you. 

There is a rudimentary breakfast served, a sort of watery porridge, with a cup of lukewarm instant coffee. 

Everyone but Serket are eating ravenously. She is simply Dabbling with her deformed silverware into her dish. Her face is livid and her expression nauseous.  
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Vantas says.  
“They wanted us to, but she insisted we come at least for breakfast,” Terezi explains.  
She is eating as fast as she can, spilling half of her meal on her cheap platter and missing her bowl (or her mouth) once every three bites. Serket stirs her porridge once or twice before declaring,  
“I…don’t think I’m hungry.”  
“You need to eat if you want to live, Vriska, you haven’t eaten in two days at least and your body sure went through a fucking lot since then. Please don’t act like a tantrum-taking baby and fucking eat.”  
Corporal Vantas threw his advice almost nonchalantly.  
“But it tastes like defeat.”  
“Did I fucking stutter or what?”  
Serket brings her spoon to her mouth clumsily, and takes the bite reluctantly. She repeats slowly the operation four or five time before giving up and just taking her cup of coffee, dipping her lips in it and drinking it in an almost imperceptible manner. Soon enough everyone else is finished and ready to go. You are still tired.  
When you get back to your room, you drop onto your military bed and sleep. 

__

When you wake up the floor the sun is plundering your cell through the barred window. Corporal Vantas is sitting arm crossed on his bed. It doesn’t look like he enjoyed any rest. You start to wonder whether he actually sleeps or whether he is simply powered by angry brooding.  
Well anyway your thoughts are SOMEWHAT clearer.  
Not.  
Your head hurts, your throat is parched and your body is still in a state of alarm. You simultaneously want to bury yourself under your coarse bedsheets and sleep forever and go back home. You want to go back in time, when nothing of this has happened and you can still erase these images from your brain. Even in sleep these images haunt you and make it especially unrestful. 

A warden comes in and urges you to get up once again. This time, you will help prepare the meal. You nudge Corporal Vantas, who is looking completely absorbed in his train of thought. If he is anything like you it probably isn’t a state in which he should be left in right now.  
“Hey, are you alright?”  
“Hunky-dory-fucking-tastic,” he almost spits at you.  
“Want to talk about it?”  
“How about no? It isn’t like you can actually understands the gravity of Vriska-fucking-Serket doing what I say, may it be a completely basic sensible thing? How can you understand the gravity of having failed on the most plain level, of being a shame to my rank, of being literally alone in the world apart from a handful of people I could with a chance consider ‘friends’ and two assholes who also got barged in this shellhole!?!”  
“Shellhole??”  
“shit- fucking-hellhole!”  
“argggggggggggggggggggg!!!” 

You shut your mouth until he calms down. Honestly, the more it goes, the less you feel concerned with all of this. Having him be concerned and desperate when you aren’t is almost comforting. The warden offers you a side glance, wondering whether he should intervene or not.  
Talk about baby tantrums. But like a baby, he eventually calms down. Whenever he feels like he has let out enough internal angst to function.  
Only Lalonde and Maryam are present to help you prepare the mid-day meal. You can’t cook for shit but Maryam apparently speaks enough of your captor’s language to get by and relays the simple instructions to all of you. 

There is about seventy people who lunch in the canteen, apart from the twenty or so wardens. Administrators, injured prisoners, medics and cleaners, mostly. The meal consists of a high-energy biscuit, overcooked rice and a glass of dubious powder-based juice.  
In the afternoon you get convened to appear in front of a prison officer, a lean man with a neutral expression.  
He asks you about your qualifications, your experiences, all with a thick accent.  
You hesitate before sharing that information, but you eventually give in figuring that it will mostly have to do with your occupation as prisoner.  
You have no medical formation. You don’t speak any language but your own. You didn’t have much of a job before becoming a soldier (actually, you spent seven years in the cadets, which you mention.) You do not have a special medical condition which could impair you to work in a factory. You’ve been a corporal for six months, after the first wave of somewhat experienced soldiers had died in battle. Your only family is your brother. He is a high-ranking soldiers somewhere on the other side of the battlefield, if he is even still alive. 

You decide to let the word flow end there. The next questions you answer in the most vague, unhelpful ways possible to put an end to this interrogation. He has enough information, you think. This guy is not your therapist, is he?  
He eventually gives in and lets you go.  
By the evening you receive your assignment. You are going to work in an ammunition factory. The pay is misery. The schedule is from seven to six, six days a week.  
Corporal Vantas shares the same fate.  
Lalonde, who had dropped out of a nursing course, and Maryam who is trilingual and has a year-formation in medical training, will both be assigned to the medical units. The pay is slightly better, but the hours completely odd.  
Serket and Terezi will not have any assignment until sufficient recovery, and in the case of Terezi, probably never will. 


	3. There is nothing more fun than being awoken at night by the agonizing cries of generalized PTSD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here's another chapter here. Strangely enough, it's almost as if I feel like I know where I'm going with this. Have no hesitation about making comments, feedback would really help, honestly.

It has been a week since your arrival and you are zombie-like.  
You work ten and a half hours a day. (There is a 30 minutes lunch break at work, all you get is a high-energy biscuit)

You eat every day the same fucking shit. Porridge for breakfast. Biscuit for lunch. Barely-more-than-water cabbage soup, mashed potatoes and dry meat-ish jerky for dinner. 

You avoid sleep. (Nightmares. Yours and those of others)

You aren’t the only one in that situation. Vantas is just like you. The both of you stay up all night, eyes open, staring at nothing, thinking about nothing, vaguely hearing in the night the sudden occasional screams of terror induced by a nightmare. But they can’t have you distraught. You cannot feel distraught when you are like that. You talk, sometimes, but the words have no meaning. They are merely gospels thrown in the wind to hypnotize you. 

But still, often, you fall asleep. And often, your slumber will be unrestful. Either one of you will awaken, damp, gasping, clutching to the metallic edge of your bunk. His voice is the only one that will awaken you, and vice-versa. 

During the day you feel nothing. At night you pray to feel numb. During the day you barely talk to Vantas. During the night you anchor yourself to him. If at first your relationship had been discordant, you are both too tired to sustain any animosity. Besides, seeing each other suffer like that only leaves space for vivid empathy and reluctant sympathy.

You keep your promise of not flirting with Terezi, obviously. She is now back at the table with you. Not Vriska. The atmosphere is gloomy. You always eat, barely exchange any words. Lalonde and Maryam, on the other end, seem to go along well. They do not disrupt the atmosphere, but they do whisper casually to each other. Sometimes they will even emit something resembling a giggle. You actually caught them outside of your company, once or twice, and they did not bear the same face at all than with you and Vantas. 

One evening, a petite woman with dark freckles and unlawful curls comes and approaches Terezi. She leans against her ear, right in front of you, and with a conniving tone starts to disclose,  
“First Private Terezi Pyrope, is this you?”  
“yes, it’s me,”  
“I’m the prisoner’s representative. I’ve heard well of you. About your knowledge of the laws and conventions of war.”  
“It is one of my talents, yes.”  
She was answering steadily, attentively, curiously but without rush.  
She did not turn around for it would have been futile.  
“I’ve been considering getting a new assistant, nothing big, just some administrative and diplomatic work. I’m fairly sure your skills extend beyond that. I would consider you as my assistant.”

Terezi pensively nods.

“Given your situation, it could be one of your only opportunity to get pay. Consider it.”

She then walks away. Terezi shouts,  
“Wait! I’m interested.”

The woman looks back and smiles.  
“I’ll come back tomorrow with the details.”

Lalonde grins.  
“I knew scattering the knowledge of your skills would prove useful. Apart from the inner workers, there isn’t much communication between the different units. People tend to stick within the confines of their own cliques. This will prove advantageous for you, but also for our whole unit.”  
“I’d like to remind everyone that we are leftovers from three separate units,” Karkat says.  
“Not anymore.”  
She shakes her head.  
“Here, the people you came with, or the people you first encounter, unless you happen to reunite with some long-lost acquaintance, are the people that form your unit. The whole camp considers us as ‘unit 12’. Lone prisoners join a unit, sooner or later. Those who don’t are considered renegades.”  
“I’m glad this prison functions the same way than high school, honestly,” you snarl.  
“Now that you mention it, the drudgery, the shitty fare, the table territoriality, it does feel oddly familiar.”  
She smirks cynically.  
“Tomorrow will be our first day off since we arrived. What should we do?”  
Karkat lifts his head and frowns.  
“You want to do something?”  
“Why not? There is a fair amount of things to do. Play card games. Read books. There isn’t any available officially, but officiously I’ve heard there is quite a market.”  
“You’ve heard a lot of things.”  
“Yeah,” Terezi interrupts Rose, “The inner workers are the worst gossiper imaginable. Seriously, I may be blind but I know everything about this place and I’ve been here for a week, half spent in agony.”  
“So you mean to tell us that everyone is integrated to this place like it’s their fucking native land, and that only my pitiful self is left with dread, loneliness and suffering?”  
“Don’t forget me, Vantas,” you add.  
“Yeah, only myself and the other asshole here.”  
You nudge him. Lalonde and Maryam exchange a concupiscent grin. What’s their problem? Can’t plant an elbow in your cellmate’s rib in pure, platonic camaraderie without being laughed at? This IS just like high school.

You sigh. You need fucking support, alright?

 

The next morning When Lalonde arrives, she has in her hand a bottle of unidentifiable alcohol. You know the thing is sold among others, such as cigarettes, candy, extra blankets, and card decks. The little shop opens between meals and curfew, and is the main thing all prisoners spend their misery salary on.  
“Isn’t it a little early to drink?”  
“I’ve been awake for six hours, Corporal.”  
Right. Her fucked up schedule.  
“Still.”  
“I need some sort of relief, alright? Besides, it’s an off day. I can do what I want.”  
“Where is Maryam?”  
“Kanaya is sleeping. She finished her shift four hours ago and starts a new one after lunch. Some of us have to work even when no one else is.”  
“Will she get a day off?”  
“Tomorrow. Then hopefully, next week on the same day as everyone. Though I might not.”

She opens the clear bottle, and then sharply swings her whole body into taking a large gulp.

She grimaces.

“This is disgusting.”

 

She takes another sip.

At that moment, Vantas joins you. This morning the breakfast is delayed an hour, and when you woke up early and saw him resting for once peacefully, you decided to let him sleep.  
“Morning.”  
“Morning.”  
“Good morning.”  
“Where is Terezi?”  
“Sleeping, I suppose.”  
“Maybe we should wake her up, breakfast is in five minutes.”  
“I’ll go,” Rose proposes.  
She leaves along with her swill.  
You are left in a silence you decide to break.  
“Slept well?”  
He grumbles.  
“Better than usual, Strider.”  
“Good.”  
“…”  
“Vantas?”  
“Yes?”  
“Please don’t tell the girls about…my nights. Alright? Just thought I’d mention.”  
“Yeah no shit like I was going to yell on the roof the details of your terror. As much as I’d like to humiliate you, I know better than that you asshat. I’ve got basic fucking decency.”

The smell of mediocre coffee starts to spread within the cafeteria. You realize breakfast is about to be served.  
Terezi bursts out of nowhere, with a new, long stick in hand.  
“Guess who got a caaaaaane!”  
“Let me guess. The guard dogs.”  
“Exactly you smug dude.”

You feel her metaphorically rolling her eyes as she sits down. 

“Well now I can use it to stop bumping into every single thing in this prison. My toes are quite familiar with this place, trust me.”  
She faintly smiles.  
“But that’s not the best news. The best news is that Vriska is finally solid enough to come sit with us and leave the hospital wing.”  
“Great,” Karkat says.  
He does not seem to think it is such a great thing. In fact, he looks almost disappointed.  
“She is your friend?” you ask Terezi.  
“She has been my friend since childhood, Dave. It’s because of her I’m here, to be completely honest.”  
“That isn’t what I would call a ‘fortuitous development’”  
“I don’t regret anything.”  
“Good for you”

You fall into silence. You tap your fingers on the table. Look right in front of you, focusing in nothing in particular. Your thoughts are starting to drift off When Terezi surprises the both of you with her unusually broken voice.

“What is wrong with you guys? Karkat. You used to be the most verbose person I know; you barely said a word in a whole week. Look, I know this sucks, but maybe we should learn to live with it? This is not any worse than it was on the other side. If you need to do anything to keep you sane, just do it. Escape, or make plans to escape. Read. Gossip. Look, if I do get to assist the prisoner’s representative, I’ll have a say in what happens to you. If I can, I will transfer you to inner work. It isn’t half bad, unless you’re medic. I hate knowing that you guys go every day and come back with the same silence and woe. I can’t even see you. Do you know how fucking lonely it feels to have nothing to base your world around but sound and touch? With every passing day it’s shittier. Just fucking talk to me. Say anything. Rant about your last shitty romance novel. Talk about the life back at home. Complain about the food. Yeah, we may just be numbers to these bastards, but we are human to ourselves…”

The last sentence felt more like something she said to herself rather than to you. She sniffs loudly and wipes her budding tears from under her bandages. You feel bad. But you can’t cry. It’s just…not…

“You read romance novels, Vantas?”  
He looks at you like you just told a joke at a funeral.  
“Yes. I do.”  
You force a chuckle. You don't think it's funny but you decide to go on that tangent anyway.  
“Man that’s gay.”  
Terezi’s expression soften ever so slightly. It’s working.  
“What? What is even your problem with that? Yes, I read straight romances, which apparently is so motherfucking gay? Where were you even raised to think like that? What if I were gay? You’re bigoted and insufferable asshole, Strider.”  
“Aw man, so you ARE gay?”  
“Tell me when I fucking said that!!!!”

“Should’ve known by the way you were eating your porridge. I can always tell, you know. So, if you’re gay, then why were you so possessive over Terezi? Is she like your protégée? Is that like a thing?”  
You remember too late that talking about his crush on Terezi is not a good conversation subject. Well. Oops. You don't know enough about him to tease him on other subjects.  
“I’m. Not. Fucking. Gay. You. Sunbleached. Asshole.”  
“I mean there isn’t anything wrong with that I’d just like to know.”  
“Fuck you.”  
“I’m flattered but not interested.”  
You put your hand on your chest theatrically.  
“I’ve got TWO fucking novels in my possession right now. I don’t know how that qualifies me for anything besides having the minimal fucking culture.”  
Your smug grin widens.  
“ohhh will you let me read them to you at night in my best sultry voice.”  
“Now THAT would be gay,” you add.  
“Will you just shut up about that already? How many bees in your bonnet have you got about being gay? You know I told you I slept well? I take that back, you’re fucking exhausting, Strider.”  
“The fact that I’m exhausting has little to do about how well you slept, Vantas, it just means you will sleep more tightly next time you do so. Given how your eye bags are a fucking institution here I think I’m making you a favor right here and then.”  
“You are a hundred percent responsible for those, Strider.”  
Terezi, grinning, interrupts.  
“Nah, he had them long before we were captured. The lil’ boy can’t sleep at night with all this war.”  
The both of you let out a faint laugh and Vantas pouts. Oh boy that's adorable.  
She attempts to shuffle his hair and misses by a mile. She almost slaps him in the face instead.  
You have a faint smile.  
Lalonde gets back to the table.  
“Oh hey guys I couldn’t Find Terez…Oh hi Tez.”  
She waves amiably at Terezi.  
She looks at her bottle. It is slightly emptier than when she first left.  
“This stuff is not half bad…want some in your coffee?”  
Everybody declines the offer.  
They eat breakfast. Then they drag your ass down to the yard. 

They fucking decide to play basketball. Well, they try playing basketball, then realize none of them really knew how, so they turn their game into some sort of Ball-enhanced earth version of Marco polo where Terezi is constantly the chaser. It doesn’t take you long to realize you aren’t having any of this. There’s a knot in your stomach and you sit down, back to the fence, ass on the dirt and you look at them as if they were alien. Your mind floats above you for a while then drifts away, making rocking motions so you can sleep. You are so tired. You don’t even notice Vantas sitting next to you, when he too realizes he’s having none of it.  
They try to get you back in the game. You kind of tell them to fuck off. You kind of feel bad for that. You kind of do nothing about it. You kind of forget how the rest of the day even goes.


	4. Leave hope to the professionals

Ugh.

You honestly don’t know what you’re feeling, but you do know you don’t want to feel it. It’s overwhelming. Like when you’re about to throw up, and end up just gagging in the back of your throat, the queasiness not going away, the bad taste definitively staying and your whole body threatening to quiver and give up. Except it is your mind taking the lead and overwhelming you.

You try everything. Breathing fast. Breathing slowly. Not breathing. You end up emitting a low groan. It’s the closest you can get to relief. You are about to cry and if you do then it’ll all come at once and you won’t be able to stop it. You are somewhat tempted by that idea.

You hear a whisper, barely, by your side. Fuck. Ignore. Ignore.

Damn it’s not going away.

It’s Vantas.

You vaguely hum at him to show you acknowledge his existence.

“Are you all right?” he asks you.

You shake your head negatively.

He understands. This is not the first time. The first times it was awkward and having him didn’t really help you. Now it somehow helps you remember where you are and the fact that you are (relatively) safe.

He whispers (or rather, shouts at a very low volume) a bunch of things. Anything. Shit it’s not helping.

You’re afraid and overwhelmed and vulnerable and trying your best to avoid the images that go through your head. And failing. You’re fighting a battle in your head. You’ve got yourself cornered. Persevere or surrender?

The sounds coming out of your mouth resemble a cry of agony.

Vantas touches your arm with hesitation.

You break out and let out a loud sob followed by others and a cascade of tears. You cry loudly, honestly, you cannot stop and you struggle to breathe.

You take a few breaks to swallow big gulps of air before going over again. Karkat tries to remove his hand, feeling embarrassed by what he’s done to you, but you snatch it and hold on to it. You hear your cries echo through the prison. You don’t know if other prisoners are awake and listening to them. It is likely. It is also likely that nobody cares. You still feel bad about it.

No. Don’t feel bad about it. That’s not helping. Just. Stop. It isn’t important. Your breathing evens out. You release Karkat’s hand. You don’t think. You let yourself be snatched by detachment, you let yourself go, body, mind and everything. It’s too late to stop it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s okay now.

It’s blank.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you wake up, Vantas is half lying on his bunk, half lying on the ground. You feel awful, but not much more than usual so you decide to go by your average and pretend everything is fine.

Shit you have to work. How are you still doing this?

Can you even get up?

You sit up. Victory. Kinda. There will be no celebrations on that.

The bells that are ringing to wake you up make you want to kill yourself.

You kick Vantas in the ribs (lightly).

“Wake up asshat”

“nnhgh?”

“yeah exactly”

You drag your asses to the refectory to get your daily dose of shit that’s supposed to keep you alive. You eat in silence. You are reminded of that first breakfast, and of the way Vriska acted. You are not behaving much differently, are you?

An officer approaches you.

“Corporal Dave Strider and Corporal Karkat Vantas?”

“Yeah”

He hands the both of you a slip of paper and leaves. You check it. It’s a reassignment. You are now working as a cleaner. You start today. You look up at Terezi. Obviously, she doesn’t look back.

“Terezi? What is this?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know Dave, I’m blind. What are you trying to show me?”

“A reassignment.”

“Ah,” she grins. “You’re welcome.”

“You suggested this shit three days ago, you already managed to do this?” Karkat says.

“I know how to get my way.”

Her satisfied smile is reaching monstrous proportions. You glare at Vantas. Vantas glares at you. Somewhere, imperceptibly, there is a relief spreading through your body at the idea of not having to go to the factory today, of not having to spend ten hours in a gloomy, repetitive hurry again. But the relief does not spread to the idea of having to change bedsheets and rub floors with a toothbrush all day.

“Thanks, Terezi,” you finally manage to say.

She grins and then her face makes the expression of someone who has just remembered something.

“Oh! And while I’m at it, being that Santa Claus of goodwill and wonder in your pitiful spiritless world, I have something for you, Kan.”

Maryam lifts up her head, curious.

“You lost your phone, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Well, here, then.”

Terezi reaches in her pocket and slides an iphone across the table.

“It isn’t of much use to me anymore. Vriska can just share her music with me. It’s yours now.”

Kanaya picks up the phone and holds it, dumbfounded.

“I…”

“Just…don’t erase the pictures, okay? I know I can’t look at them, but I still like to know they exist.”

“Of course.”

“As for the charger, just don’t ask. I have no idea.”

Rose puts a hand on Kanaya’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ll lend you mine.”

Kanaya’s face drowns in a sea of moved expressions.

“I…this is so much…this means so much…I figured I couldn’t…”

“You can just say ‘thank you’, you know,” Terezi grins.

You realize you haven’t charged your phone in a while. The battery must be depleted by now. You don’t look forward to having to sit next to the battle ground of the few power outlets in the building to try and charge it back. Then you realize you can just do it during the day now. Charging phones during wartime has always proved a difficult task, but when separated from all civilization, it is also a rewarding one. Of course, none of your phones can pick up any signal whatsoever, but looking at the pictures of your family, friends, some deceased, is something many people bond over. Sharing those pictures is also an act of trust. Being able to listen to your music sometimes bring you back home. You can’t believe you haven’t touched your phone in so long.

You reach in your pocket. It isn’t there.

Now, you don’t panic, after all it is likely just back in your room, somewhere. You haven’t used it in a while. This is normal.

After breakfast you get back to your room and look around. Some of your stuff is underneath your bed, you shuffle it, look through it.

Coarse towel, bar of soap, extra pair of socks, your Jacket. In the Jacket’s pockets, an empty pack of gum, your charger, a notebook and a pen.

You look again in your pants’ pockets.

You have your wallet. Nothing else.

Fuck.

You put your face in your hands. Your pictures. Your music. The two-hundred stupid apps you downloaded.

The pictures.

The pictures.

Fuck.

“Hey, Strider, what’s your problem?”

“My phone.”

“Your phone…?”

“I lost it.”

“Oh.”

“yeah. I mean. It’s no big deal.”

“Are you sure, Strider? It sounds like a pretty big deal to me.”

“nah, I swear, I’m fine.”

You get your face out of your hand try to look perfectly fine. You manage to keep a poker face and swallow the kind of despair that was building up in your chest. Bye bye, despair, Strider is a cool dude who understands nothing really matters anyway.

You do vaguely wonder where it could be. Maybe an inmate stole it. Maybe you lost it on the way to the camp though you are fairly sure you saw it the first day.

“Where are we even supposed to go for this cleaning bullshit?”

“The fuck if I know, Strider. Like, I guess we can just go ask at the assignment office?”

You get to the office and the foreign lady keeping it in check answers you bitterly, almost with disgust.

“The assignments are in the board in the Cafeteria, rats. Do not bother the authorities unnecessarily, for please’s sake”

You retrieve and do your best to refrain Vantas from throwing a tantrum at the obviously busy enemy solider administrative. Now is not the time to get in cahoots with them. Especially with the fact that they are armed and you are not.

You move to the cafeteria and try to understand the mess that is the assignment board. Ink stains, foreign words, arrows pointing here and there, half-torn pages.

You do find your names eventually.

“What does that word even means?” Vantas asks.

“The fuck if I know.”

The most you can gather is that you have one place to clean before lunchtime, and another afterwards. You observe the board further. In what you assume is the medical section, you can find Lalonde’s and Maryam’s assignments. They’re both working at the present moment. Wasn’t Maryam supposed to have a break today? You toss that thought aside. Obviously shifts aren’t a very invariable thing for inner workers.

Your shenanigans last for a while, enough to attract the attention of a stray guard who addresses you in a broken English,

“What is you doing now?”

“This board is a mess, bro. We don’t understand no gibberish. If you could just help us translate this word…”

The warden looks at you, stern but obviously confused.

“What is you prisoner ID?”

You hand him your tussled piece of paper. He looks at it, than shakes his head.

“You not supposed to be here. You having work now. If you keep trouble, you get punished. Friend also.”

Vantas is frowning and burying his face in his hand at the sight of the very misunderstanding guard. You try and keep your cool. You hand him the assignment you received earlier.

“No man you don’t understand if you could just…”

The guard isn’t looking at you. He is looking at Vantas. He lets out a foreign word, an insult, likely.

“No disrespect for the authorities! If you be late to work you not get paid, plus have punishment. If you disrespect authorities and mock us, I will hit.”

You try to answer, but Vantas cuts you.

“Hey, it’s not that I don’t want to get in even MORE trouble than I am right now, but maybe we’re just TRYING to do what we have been told to do, and none of you fuckers want to help us. If you had wanted us to die and suffer, you could have just pulled the trigger when it was still time to do so. I don’t even care, actually. Just kill me now before I die from a savant mixture of sleep deprivation, Strider midnight crisis, survivor’s guilt and language barrier frustration.”

You’re pretty sure the guard didn’t actually understand most of Vantas’ rant, but his tone was just shouty and aggressive enough to make him lose it. The warden hits your cellmate with his left fist and makes him back away. You wince and freeze at the sudden violence. You think for a second that Vantas had asked for it, but then you realize that was probably intentional on his part. But now that he had

gotten what he wanted, he sure as heck doesn’t look like he wants it anymore. And you don’t want him to get it. You shiver a little, but you get in-between the warden and the corporal.

“Dude stop please.”

“You get to work.”

“Yes. Yes. We get to work. Just. Where?”

The guard repeats,

“Where?”

The assignment office lady bursts in the cafeteria, looking upset.

“What is going on here?”

You and the two other people by your side freeze. The lady taps her feet.

“So you two rats are new to the inside work and you do not tell me? I have got complain from supervisor because you two are late. Go to the west wing. Now.”

You grab Vantas by the elbow and abscond the fuck out of here before the warden has anything to say about this. You stuff your ID and assignment back in your pocket. You notice Vantas’ nose is bleeding. Just great. You pretend you don’t see it. You’ve had it worse. He’d probably be offended if you suggested going to the infirmary for this.

“That was stupid dude,” you comment to him.

“You’re stupid.”

“That’s weak. I’ve heard you spit out much better burns dude. Come on. Try a little harder.”

“I’m a pathetic bastard who never truly deserved to live.”

“Now is not really the time to have a breakdown.”

“Because it’s much better to have them in the middle of the night and keep my fucking worrying ass awake?”

You try to not look hurt by this remark. As if you weren’t ashamed of this enough. You look away. He realizes he went a step too far and looks away too.

“That’s low dude.”

“Then just leave me alone about all this. I can manage.”

“Getting your ass kicked is what you can manage.”

The west wing is the kitchen wing. There are already two or three people buzzing around, doing the dishes, cleaning counters. Another stern authority figure looks down on you, for the third time today.

Of course it was usual to be observed by these people. Given orders. Even being the target of one’s disapproving commentary. But usually it didn’t come with the specific consciousness of the fact that you fucked up.

The supervisor does little apart from shoving a rough sponge in your hands, and a swab in Vantas’. He scolds you, but doesn’t even bother to switch from his native language. One of the drudges lifts their head up to obligingly translate for you.

“He wants you to scrub the sinks; and for your friend to mop the floor. He also said some things I won’t translate, but let’s say he’s not happy after you and you should make this kitchen shine.”

You side-glance at Vantas and the both of you get to work. You realize you don’t really want to waste Terezi’s opportunity for employment here, even if it did get you in trouble rather fast. You feel better about scraping sinks than about the soot and heat of the factory.

You’re about halfway done when Vantas unsubtly approaches you. He hardly wiped the blood off his face and the underside of his nose is soiled in dried blood. He looks a bit ridiculous.

“Do you think they put us on the trouble list?”

“What the fuck is a trouble list, Vantas. Are you even sure that’s a thing?”

“Terezi told me…it’s a list where they put the name of the people who they consider ‘trouble’. If we’re on that list it’s not good for us, Strider.”

“Not good like getting a bonus chore from time to time or not good as in ‘So bad we might as well die right here and there’?”

“The fuck if I know. But if Terezi learns this she’s going to be mad. This won’t reflect well on her.”

“We’ll apologize, I guess. Hey, it’s not like it was MY fault after all.”

A look of guilt appears of Vantas’ face. You feel bad for making him feel guilty about his impulsive behavior, but it is the truth after all.

“I’m a shithead. Past me deserved to be punched in the face. Hell, I’d punch present me in the face.”

“I can fulfill all of your punching kinks so long as you don’t use that as an excuse to get into more trouble, bro.”

He paused.

“What I meant is…I’m sorry. And also about what I said earlier. I know what it's like.”

“All right, apology accepted. Now, just get back to work.”

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I think this chapter had a bunch of stuff in, and yeah don't worry(not that I think you care), I will continue to write that shit. I was thinking though about writing another fic with the (I'm sure already overused) communist karkat thing. (just to show off my cold war culture. no other reason. Ok, fluff reasons also.) (and I don't think I want to make it extra angsty. and idk. Like, american dave and moscovian karkat meeting in 1957 moscow and shenanigans ensue) um. this is pointless. well, I guess, tell me what you think or whatever. Thx for reading this piece of trash.


	5. Shit, let's do tragic backstory

You are sitting next to Karkat Vantas on the cold concrete floor of the hallway. Both of you are leaning on the wall, in between you is Vantas’ phone, charging. He’s playing with a button on his vest. At the end of the hallway, a guard is playing what seems to be a very taking game of solitaire. In the cold corridor, it is very easy to hear the slight ‘flop’ of the cards being shifted around.  
You sigh.  
“How much?” you ask.  
He checks his phone.  
“60%”  
“…so,” you begin without knowing what you are going to say, “What made you join the military?”  
“It is kind of personal.”  
“Oh. Hey guess it’s okay. I just thought that we should get to know each other since…”  
“Since all of a sudden you seem to be taken with the inexplicable envy to chit chat?”  
“Since we’re in the shit together. In for the long run. Since we may be stuck in here long enough to end up acting like an old married couple. We’ll go back home and call each other honey and bicker all day long yet will live together because of how we realize we can’t even spend a night without the insufferable snoring of our former cellmate. It would be a fucking shame to be in that situation yet not know the damnest thing about each other, don’t you think?”  
“Well, what made you join the military?”  
You shrug.  
“I guess it’s a bit weird. Like I’ve been in some sort of military organization since I can remember. Like as a lil’ fucker of a thirteen years old in the cadets following orders and shit. And yet it isn’t like my bro likes the military or anything. Pretty much the opposite. So much the opposite saying that my bro tolerates the military is like the fucking dictionary definition of an Antithesis. They show it in school to explain it to children. But he still signed me up for it I guess to show me how evil it was or something and also to give me some self-discipline or whatever. It got me out of his way so he could do his own thing, too. And though I definitively dislike the whole government thing I guess at some point I just didn’t know what else to do so at 18 I enrolled. Then there was the war and I couldn’t opt out anymore. And He joined too. I’m not sure why. I’ve always tried my fucking best to understand his actions and despite everything I just can’t. So I roll with it. Luckily we have never been put together.”

“You don’t have parents?”  
“A mother when I was real young I guess…she abandoned us not sure why and I got raised by my bro, the dude is nearly twenty years older than me. I honestly have no clue what’s my story. All I know is that it’s fucked up. End of story.”  
Vantas mutters something under his breath.  
“What?”  
He mutters it barely louder.  
“Dude I can’t hear you.”  
“I’m a Bastard, okay?!?” he almost shouts.  
The guard at the other end of the hallway raises his head, looks confused, but as he sees the flushing prisoner and calm other guy he gets back to his game.  
“Oh. Well. I kind of am too dude. No big deal.”  
“Nobody knows in my unit. My mother had me from a married man. Nobody ever had any hopes for me but I wanted to go to college and that’s why I joined the military.”  
“Well I can get that I guess.”  
“But I’m a failure.”  
“Big deal. Like we expected to be anything else anyway.”  
“I regret the decisions I took.”  
“I never believed there was a right decision to be taken. All paths have always led to bad endings.”  
“How did you get captured?”  
“oh man so there was the crazy battle pretty sure you’ve heard of it, it was like only the biggest fucking thing to happen since WW2 and everybody died and shit. Like I had been sent to replenish ammunitions or some shit and totally dodged a bomb that killed my whole unit. Totally not still having nightmares about that nu-uh. And then to be honest I don’t remember it was all blurry and shit but long story short I ended up with Lalonde and two other randos and Lalonde proposes to sneak inside an opposing base because reasons and I decide to go along and we get caught and ta-da.”  
“Ok. Let’s recapitulate this. You are a little fucker. You get abandoned, just like me, and raised in a constant state of being considered a basket case, once again, idem. You fight a horrible battle, make bad decisions, which leads you to having people being unnecessarily killed. You survive out of pure luck, accompanied by people who are similarly hopeless.”  
“yeah basically”  
Karkat buries his face in his hands, in embittered hilarity.  
“woah you okay dude,” you ask.  
“Yes, no. I’m simply trying to get over the fact that we are so mindfuckignly similar, Strider. I’m not sure if I should be unsurprised or appalled by the sudden realization that I am nothing more nothing less than douchebag face over here and that I can’t even guilt-freely hate you anymore. Not that I even really want to. Life and death is absurd and I am hit every fucking passing day with that fact. The universe is an even bigger douchebag than we could both ever hope to be despite our best efforts and I hate it for that.”  
“There isn’t really much of a point being upset at the universe no matter how much it fucks you over, Vantas.”  
“Ha. Ha Ha.”  
“How did you get captured?”  
“One of our teammates snapped.”  
“How so?”  
“He…was an okay guy. A fucking moron stoner I’m not even sure how he got into service but not a single violent bone in his body. During the battle our unit wasn’t fighting directly; we had been told to stay in retreat for strategic purposes. Which fucking strategic purposes? I don’t know so don’t ask. Don’t ask questions and let the officers wallow in guilt and shame if you happen to die, that’s my policy. Anyway , we had been told to stay in retreat while everyone else was dying and honestly I’m not going to complain but at some point they sent us through an opening in the fields and we passed through: it was a fucking amazing victory but god forbid we bask in it because of course by the time we come back the opening had been blocked again and we didn’t know what to do so we just kind of wandered through and we got fucking lost. We erred for a while. And then all of a sudden like three assholes from my unit, the stoner guy, some now dead asshole and Vriska-Fucking-Serket. I honestly have no idea who killed who but end result: two wounded, seven killed.”  
“was he like the weird guy who got taken away?”  
“Yeah. He was completely fucking nuts. Thing is, only the people from my unit know what Serket did. And for some reason they still protect her. She had aggravating circumstances, but even now I’m uncomfortable knowing what she did. And I’m uncomfortable knowing what I did.”  
“Which was?”  
“Nothing. I was fucking powerless. I did fuckall and all of my teammates died. Now all I want is to be showered in fucking arsenic or something ludicrous and masochistic like that.”  
He looks really fucking morose and you hesitate for a moment before awkwardly pressing your hand on his shoulder.  
“um, well, there there I guess. Or any other form of ridiculous comfort-giving meaningless phrase. I mean. I know its shit. But like. I don’t know. You’re cool dude even if you’re crabby. You can’t always blame yourself for all the shit that’s happening.”  
He looks at you with glassy eyes and you almost writhe from the affection that that makes flow through you.   
“how much?” you ask.  
“What?”  
“Your phone?”  
“oh.”  
He looks at the battery icon on the screen.  
“It’s full.”


	6. Escapism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I can't put off this shit forever when I have it sitting right there, unread, hidden. Better to have it unread, in plain sight, no? uh. okay. I might go on hiatus soon or something. (partially cause I'm catching up with where I'm done writing, partially because I need to rethink my life).  
> So, yeah, thanks for reading up to here if you managed to do so I'm flattered. sorry if it's shit.

Karkat is a hella chill dude.

Is what you are thinking because you have nothing else to do.

He is reading one of his novel sat on his bunk. He looks almost peaceful when he’s into the (apparently) heart-wrenching story of true love between…a CEO and his secretary? Man, that book looks bad. But you can’t look away from the cheesy cover of two bedroom-eyed conventionally attractive white people embracing into the twilight. He looks focused, with his earbuds in his ears. Can he seriously listen to music while he reads? Or does he just do that to avoid you talking his ears out?

You did talk a lot to him in the last three weeks. Having him by your side at all times, unlike when you both worked in the factory did have this effect.

You sneakily catch a breath of the fresh air coming through the window. It’s drizzling and the air is cool. The bad insulation does nothing to prevent the temperature from being spread through the room. It’s early November, according to the worn out calendar from the cafeteria, and you are not used to the cold. Though today is enjoyable, you do not look forward to the months of gut-wrenching bleak that are to come.

Terezi was right. The job as cleaners did make you slightly less depressed. Slightly. At least now you did enjoy the resting days. While the nightmares didn’t stop, they rarified. You could get a good night sleep, and with a good night sleep your days became slightly less dreary. You still haven’t found your phone. With Karkat too taken by his book to be pleasant company, you get bored.

After having satiated your need to look at your cellmate, you decide to get up.

You take out one earbud from your friend’s ear and as he protests, you simply announce,

“I’mma go see the girls bro is shit’s boring I’m out I’ll be back.”

And you plug back the earbud into his ear, shortly contemplating sticking it in his whining mouth.

The women’s wing of the prison has a quiet feel. Voices, soft, accommodating, are coming out of the individual cells and whenever you pass in front of an occupied one, a perplexed gaze looks up at you. Loud snorts and laughs echo from one of the cells, you know which one.You come in front of the room shared by Vriska and Terezi.

The former and the latter are sat on a single bunk, their legs tangled in a Gordian knot of kinship, and through heavy commentary Vriska is reading aloud to the blind girl. The latter is in the middle of a rant apparently concerning the novel in her friend's hands.

“But what I don’t understand is why exactly Julia is so nonchalant about her own Justice system and the obvious corruption of her govern…well hey there.”

She heard your footsteps.

“Hey Terezi. Enjoying some sick books?”

“Mad social criticism yeah. Vriska is reading me 1984.”

“Cool.”

“You got bored?”

“Yeah. Karkat is all up again in his books. Can’t talk to him when he’s like that. But obviously you are into reading too now. This isn’t even a prison anymore it’s a fucking library. The most literary camp on this side of the war. Soon enough people are going to start coming from all parts of the country, demanding to be…”

“Dave stop,” Vriska interjected.

Damn. She always ruins all your fun.

She turns back to Terezi, answering her first comment.

“Well, maybe I’m wrong. Probably not. But I don’t think the system is all bad? It is sustainable, after all. It has better control over itself than any previous society.”

You hold back a frown.

“Oh yeah cut me off to just go on about whatever you were going to say. That is rather rude, Vrisk. I came here to have a good time and I am feeling so attacked right now. Where did you get that book anyway?”

“Illicit business. Most prisoners have a few books with them, and a few wardens smuggle them around too. For a few bucks you get decent entertainment and then you can sell it again to get some other books. Trade works too. We did somewhat of a splurge recently. Got ourselves some sweet loot.”

“Oh yeah which reminds me,” Terezi adds.

She nudges Vriska who rolls her eyes and gets out a pile of book from out of the bed. Maybe a dozen or so worn out covers. With her single hand, she puts them on the bed, does a quick shuffle and hands about four of them to Terezi, who presents them to you.  
“They’re for Karkat. A gift. He needs some new titles. I know he can read the same one fifty time but this is getting preposterous.”

You take them. Old Harlequins, all looking like they have the same plot.

“I don’t know what you read so I guess they’re for you, too, if you decide you want to tear your eyes out and join the blind club.”

“That’s a cool idea but I’ll pass, thanks. What about Kanaya and Rose?”

“They can go buy it for themselves.”

You get a slight bitter taste in your mouth when you realize how nice it is of Terezi to give those to Karkat. You don't know how much they cost, but you do realize that despite everything, it probably isn’t that cheap. You aren’t sure what you are jealous of, but you do recognize the feeling and feel a bit ashamed.

“I’m going to see Rose and Kanaya now.”

Terezi snickers.

“Good luck.”

You get to the neighboring cell. You are met with two napping ladies, curled up in a soft embrace. You smile at how cute it is. You do idly wonder if there is something romantic going on between the two. Then you notice the tangled earbuds, and the alcohol bottles on the floor. You sigh. Talk about a time to be drinking again. You are about to leave when a suddenly awake Kanaya is staring down at you, urging you to stay with her gawk. She swiftly disentangle herself from Rose’s snoring body, and take you outside the cell.

“Hello Dave.”

“Hello Kanaya.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well you are in luck I’m right here.”

“It’s about Rose.”

“Oh I see you want courting advice from the master from the boss of the bosses of being smooth as fuck well let me tell you right here the way you two are being tangle buddies let me believe that she’s into it so I’d say just go ahead and confess.”

Kanaya blushes.

“It is not about that, though I appreciate your advice. My concerns are more related to her consumption of alcoholic beverage.”

“It’s getting out of hand?”

“Well, I believe that is the problem: I do not know. When is too much too much? She is starting to spend an alarming amount of her salary into it and I do not know how to tell her to maybe be careful with all of this. She assures me it is not a problem. I want to believe her. But will she tell me soon enough if it does become a problem?”

“Well I’d love to help you but I kind of don’t know the damnest thing about Rose or chugging up liquor I personally never had a taste for it. The only thing I know is that Rose is a smart girl so she probably knows more about it than I do but you’re smart too so if you have concerns just talk with her. Alcoholism takes time to develop so there might still be a way back.”

“I am afraid of offending her and her judgement if I am overreacting.”

“yeah I can get that. Like. Dude. I don’t know. See how it goes.”

“You are a very helpful man.”

“Now keep your sarcasm for wooing that little sleeping beauty over here. Say, are you using both your phones?”

“No, only Rose’s. We were listening to the same music.”

“Could I borrow yours? I promise to give it back I’m bored out of my mind right now.”

“What happened to your own cellular device?”

“Lost it”

“On the battlefield?”

“No, here, on the first week.”

“Have you considered asking for it at the lost and found?”

“There’s a lost and found?”

“Yes. Next to the assignment office on the first floo…”

“Yeah I kind of have been avoiding that place. But I will check it out. Thanks bro.”

“You’re welcome.”

You amiably tap her shoulder and go.

Of course. The lost and found. How stupid can you be?

You try and not let that stupid flicker of hope ignite some positive feelings, because you are 85% sure you are going to be disappointed by this. Still. Worth trying. You hope that assignment lady isn't on her shift. You are in the right hallway, though there is no room clearly labelled as a lost and found. You could ask the guard at the hallway's door, but despite getting slightly better with their language, the only words you really learned are in the likes of "yes" "no" "move" "go back to your cell" "stop" "papers" "rats" "fuck off" "bastards" and a few other similarly flattering things.

You guess you don't have much choice, so you knock at the assignment office's door. Out of luck, it's the mean lady again. When she sees your face she starts bearing an almost comical expression of annoyance.

"You again? What is your problem, rat?"

It is either a very popular insult in their language, or one she particularly likes to use.

"Nothing officer, I've just been told that the lost and found are somewhere in here."

"I take care of that. What you lost? Apart from every single quality you never had?"

Oh snap.

(It was a bit gratuitous, though. Power abuse, maybe?)

"My phone."

"That not important. I have phone, though. When you lost it?"

"About a month ago."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"We found phone in shower room. What your area?"

"Second floor, wing C."

"It was that shower room. Guess it's yours. You lucky, rat."

She hands you reluctantly your phone, and you think that despite her obvious dislike of you, she at least has some honesty in her.

"Now fuck off."

With the cold piece of electronic secured in your hands, you oblige.

You try to turn it on. No battery. Unsurprising. Suddenly you remember, putting your phone next to one of the sink the first time you showered here. Well, that was stupid. You're going to get to see your friend's and teammates faces yet again for the first time since you've been captured. You kind of want to show them to Karkat. You blush when you remember clogging up your library with shitty photos of yourself. Maybe you'll have to clean that out before you show him pictures of your past. Though you don't have that many pictures of the people of your unit. You guess you were only ever slightly close to them. You mostly took pictures of landscape, birds, everyday life and yourself. You could take pictures now. Of this place, of Karkat, Rose, Terezi. You aren't sure you have the energy. You used to like to take pictures.

You're glad to have that baby back in your hands anyway.


	7. In which a cute moment finally arises (and turns awkward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I'm taking a break from my break to post this it's kind of filler but I guess it makes for some more bullshit character development I also hardly think it makes sense. anyway. Thanks for reading, as always!

You are sitting next to Karkat on his bunk and scrolling through the pictures on your phone, your right arm pressed against his left arm. You explain to him the pictures as they pass. Many of them, you have few explanations for, but it’s all right. You also hadn’t had the heart to delete your selfies, you just try and scoop through them as fast as you can. Sadly, your friend won’t stop mocking you about it.   
“I must admit, Dave, you seem to be quite fucking obsessed with your own face. A bit narcissistic, perhaps?”   
“Oh shut up. Hey, look, that was my old bunk with all my shit. Man I always got scolded because of my sense of cleanliness and shit. My fellow unit members hated me for that.”   
“I understand them. Oh shit thank god you own barely anything now I’m getting annoyed just looking at it. You’re going to make me puke, Dave, please, next picture, anything, even another god damn selfie.”   
“Haha alright bro.”   
You swipe. You get to a series of pictures in which a pigeon was tentatively taunting at a bit of food you had left for it.   
“Oh man I remember that bird it flew right during one of our breaks and I gave it a bit of bread and man it loved it just look at that bird. Could hardly take a nice picture it was shuffling so much. Man I hate birds.”   
“Sure seem like you do, giving them food and taking pictures of them and shit.”   
“Eh it ain’t my fault it’s the only thing to photograph around here. But they make everything so gloomy and tragic. Like, chill, the atmosphere is sucky enough without a flock or crows or whatever cawing in the twilight.”   
“Pigeons cawing in the twilight somehow fail to make anything gloomy to me. It is an absurdity and a disgrace to anyone’s taste in storytelling.”   
“Sounds like incredibly good taste to me.”   
You swipe past the series of pigeon photos. Another selfie. You prepare to swipe again but Karkat stops you.   
“Wait! This one is nice.”   
“It’s hella boring. I’m not even doing any shenanigans or posing ironically it literally is just my face.”   
“You look happy.”   
“I’m not even smiling.”   
“Well you can be smiling with other parts of your face!”   
“Oh is it that like when you are telling me you are angry even though you are clearly smiling and holding in a laugh because what I said was hilarious?”   
Karkat blushes.   
“Shut up.”   
“hahaha you wish.”   
He nudges you.   
You cross your legs on his lap and lean back boastfully against the other wall.   
“I’m never shutting up, Karkat.”   
He tries to get your legs off of him but his attempts are half-assed and he ends up leaning back himself, kneading the fabric of your pants.   
You have an idea.   
"oh shit dude let me take a picture of you."   
"What? No!"   
"oh come on I want to do that. You'd look great. I bet you have negative amount of selfies on your phones it's only fair."   
"What even is the point? You can see my face all the time, douchebag!"   
"But what if I stop being able to see it? I want to remember your perpetual frown and nasty overbite. And if I tell people about your eye bags they won't believe me, I'll have to show them a picture even if they'll probably end up thinking it was photoshopped anyway but a picture is certainly better than nothing to prove someone like you really exists. Can't be invented. It will take three seconds come on dude."   
Karkat sighs.   
"You are a perpetual hassle to my existence, Strider."   
"Can't believe you're calling me 'strider' again"   
"It's to show my pure, unbridled annoyance, Dave."   
You brandish your phone in front of him anyway. From your position, you are getting a three-quarters angle on him and a decent light. You take the first picture as he looks annoyed but resigned. You take a second picture and he frowns. You take a third and he covers his face. Before you can take a fourth he has his hand on your phone.   
"Enough! You said ONE picture."   
"I never said that."   
You smirk.   
"Smile for the camera."   
"Never."   
"Candid shots. Even better. Great idea, Karkat. What a sense of art direction. A true Alfred Hitchcock. I am but a mere cockroach in the face of your grandeur."   
"you say it as a joke but your idiocy has actually found the truth. I AM the greatest, believe it or not."   
"I can see that in those magnificent pictures I have of you."   
"Fuck you. How many?"   
"A hundred thousand million.So many."   
"Give me your phone I want to delete the bad ones."   
"Never."   
"Why?"   
"Every picture is worth it. The ones you think are bad now can become the best ones later. I'm not taking that risk."   
"Bullshit."   
He tries to grab your phone, but you are holding it over your head and he cannot reach it from under your legs. He grasps at your jacket and his determined expression makes you laugh more genuinely than you have been used to recently. You think for a second that the two of you really have become one of the subdivisions of the unit that had seemed to form. Rose and Kanaya, Vriska and Terezi, you and Karkat. You wonder what it means. It takes a blind man to not see how the first pair has a romantic inclination. The second pair is more ambiguous. Your pair is...   
"Rose and Kanaya really go well together, don't you think?"   
"Don't change the subject, Strider."   
"No, I mean it. Earlier today I saw them all tangle napping, having the fucking time of their lives. And you know how they've been lately."   
"What do you want, Kanaya has always played for the other team, as I'm fairly sure 80% of the women in the military fucking do. Or at least they used to. Guess it's good for them if they found some silver lining to this place. Isn't it ironic? To find love in about the least romantic place imaginable."   
"Really? You think that many women here are lesbians?"   
He shrugs.   
"Or bisexual. It doesn't change much, does it? As long as it doesn't affect professionalism."   
"I guess. Still, I wouldn't really want to walk on them doing the do, if you know what I mean. This place somewhat lacks privacy."   
"Well they wouldn't do it in front of everyone, during generalized free time unless they had some exhibition kink, you fucking idiot."   
"Then when and where?"   
Karkat answers idly, as if he hadn't realized his answer would denote the fact he had thought about it.   
"Well, It's true that there isn't any way they can get it on with candles and flowers and a fucking satin-sheet bed, but if they really wanted to, the shower rooms outside of shower time would be the ideal, they could also do it if they have free time during the typical work hours of the others, or at night if they're silent enough, they do share the same cell after all."   
"I've been needing pretty badly to, uh, you know, jerk it for a while, but I've been too scared to get caught."   
And also of him hearing it more than anything. But you don't mention that. God, why did you mention that thing in the first place? That's some premium embarrassing shit right there. Though it is true.   
Oh god Karkat is looking at you as if you just said exactly what you just said.   
"uh...."   
"if it helps you fall asleep and not just wail all night then just fucking do it, I'm not going to judge you."


	8. Under the weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty short but I guess it all make "thematical sense"

It’s cold. Colder than anything you’ve ever known. So, that’s what it’s like, to be below the freezing point? It feels as if all colors and smells had been frozen along with the ground and the air. And you live in a perpetual shiver. Nothing ever seems to warm you up. The entirety of your clothes cannot keep you from feeling it through your bones during the night. The metal and concrete of your cell are like made of ice.

Karkat also complains about it, though he seems to have known already what to expect. He says that chances are this mid-December is only the beginning. There isn’t even snow yet. Temperatures may still drop. You cannot understand, as to you this already seems to be inching dangerously close to the absolute zero. What kind of hell is this place? It is also dark way too many hours per day for you to not drop back into a dour mood.

You are sweeping the floors in the first floor wing C hallways, while Karkat is moping them behind you. You leave him that job because you can’t support the feeling of the cooling water on your hands whenever you need to dampen the old rag that mops the floor. You see your partner get red contused hands because of it and you feel bad, though he tells you it is all right and you are weak for not being able to stand it.

As you had suspected, You have started to develop feelings for Karkat. This isn’t the first time it happened to you, but with each passing day it becomes a little bit more intense.

The way he looks.

The way he inconspicuously takes care of people all while pretending he doesn’t.

The way it is so easy to be with him.

You aren’t sure where this could possibly go. When you are in your bunk at night, the thought of him, the dim sight of him, the soft sound of his breathing, it keeps you a little warmer. You still can't bring yourself to masturbate in his presence even if he has given you his go ahead, what a stupid thing.

You’ve started to get alcohol from time to time, the strong feeling of it also warms you a little bit. Rose does too. She has clearly passed all boundaries of decency, but Kanaya still doesn’t have the heart to tell her to stop, not when she herself indulges in a little booze-induced warming. It hurts her job.

There isn’t much happening. The work is still to be done, it is still done, but most feelings and ambitions have come to a halt. You idly wonder if that is a common side effect of this weather. You have trouble sleeping and you are fairly sure you’ve lost weight. You have been told it is normal, as your body spends energy keeping you warm. But the less you sleep, the worse your moods gets. And the less you sleep, the more you want to sleep, though you never seem to find the comfort to do it. Not to mention the dire emptiness of your arms when it comes to knowing the object of your affection only sleep a few feet away from yourself.

You feel incredibly weak.


	9. of all things, comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I've reached as far as I've written so for the rest I kind of only have the outlines and shit, this is a very good time to send suggestions and comments on what you think so far. Also, I kind of have no idea where to end my chapters so I kind of just cut them when there's enough words and my idea has kind of came across. I guess. Anyways, enough babble, you wanna read. here ya go.

Getting your paycheck was a pleasant break from the routine. Most of all, realizing you have now enough money to get one of those blankets sold at the prison’s shop. Hopefully, they still have some.  
Karkat had already bought one the evening before with his spare money he had from before. You had to wait. The line is long, blankets are scarce. Your heart clenches at the quasi-certain realization that you may not be able to get one. They had gotten a new arrival and all the people who were laggards to get one such as yourself were hopeful of getting an extra amount of heat at night.   
You stay in line for nearly an hour before they announce stock shortage.   
Fuck. This was a predictable outcome, but fuck nonetheless.  
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.  
You get back to your table, defeated. Your fellow unit members look at you with pity. Karkat puts a comforting hand on your back, you try very hard not to cry in front of everyone.   
It’s a stupid thing, a blanket. There is no reason to cry. You just have to wait a couple more days, maybe weeks. Sure, this evening, and the others, might feel cold but…  
But nothing. It sucks. You don’t really have anything to be happy about.  
You get up and leave your group to get back to your cell. If you warm your bed for the hour and a half left before curfew you might freeze a little less. It is still early, but all of your group follows your lead. Nobody feels like staying up tonight. As you walk back to your block, Karkat sticks with you, very close. Your shoulders are brushing together. You feel like slipping your hand into his, but the reasonable part of your mind holds you back. In your cell, your friend proposes that he stays on your bunk the time it will take to warm it up. You nod.  
There you are again, shoulder against shoulder, his body heat bringing warming you more than he probably thinks. For more than an hour, in silence. At some point his head drop on your shoulder and it makes you want him to never move again. When the curfew rings, he detaches himself from you reluctantly and slips in his own bed. You shiver at him leaving, even if your bed is somewhat warmer.   
In the dark, it doesn’t take you thirty minutes before you start sobbing. You want to stop, but it keeps going. You almost hadn’t cried in a month, and suddenly all that bleakness pours down on you like a shower. You see the shadow of Karkat get up. You feel the weight of his blanket on your body. The sudden gesture of kindness is enough to reduce your sobbing to coarse breathing. He then uncovers you and…  
He crawls next to you. You stop breathing. He whispers,  
“Is it okay?”  
You exhale part of the breath you were holding in a feeble “yeah,”  
His body heat feels so good. Now, if that wasn’t what you had wanted for what feels like forever now. The bunk being narrow as it is, your bodies are naturally pressed together and it only feels normal when you wrap your arms around his torso and bury your head in his chest, shifting your body so it makes for a comfortable position. You feel his breathing and his heartbeat as if it were yours and now you do not want to fall asleep now, not when the best thing to have happened since you got here is happening. Holding on to him, under the doubled blanket, you feel…safe.   
You feel some tears make their way back to your eyes but they are much less acid than those that came before it. In fact, they are large, warm, drops that silently forge rivers on your face, and when one of the streams makes its way to your mouth, it tastes slightly of salt. You tug the back of his shirt with your ice fingers until you fall asleep.

When you are woken up he is still pressed against you and his hands prying yours from himself feels like a betrayal. The shrill sound of the hell bells gradually bring you back to reality. When you get up you see guard looking with perplexity at the both of you and you are suddenly afraid of what this means. Hopefully, nothing, but you doubt that. Before leaving for breakfast you sneak besides Karkat and whisper to him,  
“Thank you.”  
He bites his lip.   
At breakfast an unusual event happens: the mail gets delivered. Rose gets a letter put in front of her, and, to the surprise of everyone, upon looking at the sender, bursts in tears.  
“What’s wrong? Rose, what’s wrong? What is up with you?” you question her.  
She might already at this hour be a bit drunk, but she had seemed fine up until now.  
“My…mom. I…I am such a failure. I…snif…this is too much…”  
“Is this letter from your mother?” Kanaya asks.  
Rose nods.  
Kanaya brings an arm around her.  
“This is good, Rose.”  
“I…I did everything to piss her off. I was, stupid, and, naïve, and, I, hurt, her. And she…she still…sent me a letter…she was too…too good for what I was…I regret…everything…”  
Kanaya answers nothing, contenting herself from rubbing Rose’s back as she hugged her. You think you understand why she’s crying, though you can’t relate. You certainly don’t expect any letters from the other side, no matter how long you might stay here. You aren’t going to send any, either.  
That would be pointless.  
Everything you have is right here.  
It isn’t much.  
“Are you going to open it or are you just going to mope yourself into oblivion?” Vriska asks.  
“I was going to open it, but maybe now just isn’t the right time after all,” Rose snaps back.  
“Oh great. Sorry to have hurt your precious sensibility, I thought you of all people would be a little tougher than that.”  
“It isn’t my fault there is nothing in this world you care enough about to cry over losing it. Even your own body. Internalized self-hatred, perhaps?”  
Vriska squints and plunges her spoon into her porridge aggressively.  
“Fucking pretentious kid.”  
“Says the entitled brat who is a mere year older than her,” Kanaya broke out.  
Her face is pityless.  
“Let us talk about what you did, shall we?”  
Vriska’s blood drains from her face.  
“This was in the past, Kanaya! I regret it, okay! Besides, what are you going to do? We’re already in prison! What’s done is done! I will try to pay you back any way I can, there just hasn’t been any good opportunity yet! Trust me! You can hate me all you want, nothing will change the fact that you need me, and that I am a useful member of any group I’m a part of!”  
“So long as they do not trust you excessively, I believe. Come on, Rose. Let us go read that letter.”  
The girls both leave, half of their rations remaining. Vriska frowns, but when they’re gone, she pours the leftover porridge into her own bowl.  
Both you and Karkat stare at her.  
“What? The rations here are a misery and it isn’t by starving that I’ll get to help any of you!”  
Terezi puts a hand on her arm.  
“Vriska, cut it out. No matter how things remain in the past, the fact stays that you did the things you did and that people have a right to hold it against you. No matter how strongly you regret. You do not get any martyr points from being misunderstood in our present situation. In fact, the more self-entitled you get, the less useful you are. So, truly, cut it out.”  
Vriska sighs, staring guiltily at her food.


	10. What will you do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! sorry for not having posted in like more than a week, but now I'm back. Enjoy! 
> 
> Also, tw for mentions of past abuse and fear of rape (implied)
> 
> In the future, it will likely become more of a theme, I will probably change the tags and make the rating mature.

You are scrubbing the sinks of the shower room today. And Karkat is there, behind you, trying to pry the rust from the remnants of lockers located there, doors torn off since likely the transformation of this factory into a prison. You can see him in the crummy mirror of your sink. Your hands follow the hard curves of the ceramic, while your eyes are following the movement of his struggle. You are not focusing on your task. His head turns and he sees your face in the mirror. He stops. You don’t. He turns around and takes a few steps towards you. His eyes are hyper focused and his gape unreadable. He is but a few steps behind you and you are looking right into his dark eyes. The only movement comes from your piece of cloth running back and forth on the surface, moving to the metallic tap. He likely cannot see exactly where you are looking, but can guess it is exactly at his eyes. 

You are sent back a couple years. In the subway, on a summer’s evening. Riding underground to avoid going back home. Late night, stifling humidity. A girl, who in your memory bares the face of Rose Lalonde, you ignore why. Sat across from you. Forelocks stuck to her forehead, her throat alternating between floating in and stretching a black choker necklace. The spirit of a nonexistent breeze making her ankle-length purple skirt drift ever so slightly. Her mouth filled with a melting red Popsicle, tracing trails down her chin. Her glare, as unreadable as the one Karkat is presenting you, looking right through you, simultaneously warning and mooring you. 

You have a bad feeling about this.

That night the girl stared at you was also the night you had caught your brother with a man, a thing he assuredly did not want you to see. You had spent a bad week, and yet most of it you cannot remember. What you can remember is that girl, the image clear as the reflection upon a still lake. You still see behind her the advertisement for a men’s shaving cream, a dusky red hue in which were silhouetted black crows, and the worn out newspaper at her feet.

But it cannot be Rose, can it? It is her face that exists within your memory, if a few years younger. You can remember no other face existing. Yet, when you met Rose, you did not feel the immediate familiarity that would necessarily have come to you. You also hardly think Rose has been raised in the same town as you. The memory is just there, being superimposed with the memory currently forming. Back then, it was sweltering, and her scrutiny had chilled you. Now, it is freezing and his gaze is steaming, yet the feeling of impending threat is still being thrown upon you.   
He breaks eye contact and you are falling back to reality, your breath releasing at once, the motion of your arm stopping at the tip of the tap, your thumb pressed against the hole the water comes from.   
“How long will we stay here, Dave?”

You had to swallow hard something, you are not sure what, before being able to answer, ineloquently. 

“I…I don’t know.”  
“It has been three months.”  
“It has.”  
“What will come of us next?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Are you all right?”

You shrug.   
You still aren’t completely back from the strange hypnosis he had put you in inadvertently. You think about last night, the way you two had cuddled. You wonder if he could gift you with the same act tonight. 

“About last night…” he reads from your thoughts, “We could do it until there is a new arrival of blankets. I don’t mind. It warms me too. Though the bed is too fucking narrow for the both of us.”  
“True,” you answer. “Though I would like that. It was…good. Felt warm.”

He smiles faintly at you and you can feel your chest tighten dangerously. 

“We should get back, if we are done. If we stay in here for too long we are going to get scolded.”

You nod and follow him.

 

In the evening, the discussion of your unit centers on what the others refer to as Room 101. Disoriented, you ask,

“What is room 101?”  
“It’s from 1984,” Terezi tells you, “It is a room in which you are faced with what you fear most in order to get you to betray your fundamental beliefs and the people you love. We are talking about what would be in that room for each of us. Vriska insists that there is nothing that could have that effect on her.”  
“All of you have read the book?”  
“Apart from you and Karkat. It went around the women’s wing quite a bit.”  
“What’s in your room 101?” you ask.  
“A bomb, like the one that took my vision and Vriska’s arm.”  
“My mom,” Rose added, staring into her spiked cup. “Dead because of me.”  
“A man,” Kanaya admitted.  
“I don’t want to startle you, Kanaya,” you joke, “But this room is filled at 70% with men.”

She looks at you, a bit annoyed at the fact that she has to explain.

“Not simply a man, but, someone who wants to…I am afraid of…”  
“Oh,” you understand. 

She is a little flushed from embarrassment, but nonetheless dignified. You think that her attitude makes it unlikely for her to fall prey to what she is most afraid of, but you realize attitude isn’t everything and especially in the army, it is a real threat she faces. You suddenly have a new wave of respect for her. 

You also feel the question being thrown back at you. 

You think a bit about an appropriate answer more than a true one, and you come up with something, though not untrue, a bit more symbolic than instinctive.

“Vultures that would eat me alive,” you finally say.  
“It’s a little like in the book,” Terezi comments.  
“What is the threat in the book?”  
“Rats,” Terezi answers.  
“Oh, that would be fucking disgusting,” Karkat opines. “I think this is close to what I’d have.”  
“See, Vriska? Everybody has something that would sway them. You are just in denial.”  
“Maybe I’m just stronger than everybody. I would die and be tortured before I revealed anything.”  
“But it isn’t just torture,” Terezi says, “It’s outright the worse thing imaginable. Besides, I’m fairly sure regular torture would already get all of us.”  
“Humans are fragil creatures, silly broken. And yet strong, since of how hard it is to kill them. In-between floats all of the woes of the world,” Rose says. “Physical pain is direct and naught avoidable. It is weird into most of us like sexuality is. Emotional pain is evasive and sly, it hurts in a ways it is hard to tell. The combo-ination of the two destroys what we consider myselves.”  
“Ever thought of writing a book?” you say to please her.  
“As soon as I get back home,” she smiles sincerely at you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this is all a bit more allegorish than usual, My story tends to go from casual to descriptive to pretentious to grim to all right on a whim and I haven't found the way for it not to do that yet. Comments help!


	11. The worse is not, so long as we can say "this is the worst"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a billion years I wrote another chapter. Sorry 'bout that. You need to banish me to the shadow realm.  
> I just wasn't able to write it for a while, and then started other projects and always pushed this one back. Moral of the story: I am a terrible person.
> 
> Anyway, here is another chapter. Am I going to continue this? probably, though I might wrap up the story in only 2-3 chapters which may take any amount of time between a week and a year to complete. Given how fucking nuts school is these days, probably not a week. 
> 
> Comments are always welcome. Compliments, questions, comments, insults, it's whichever.

You and Karkat are walking casually through the corridors. You have the morning off. He’s rambling about justifying why he reads those cheap, cheesy romantic novels to you, while you listen to the sound of his voice. He is not quiet. Despite everything, he still sounds similarly to the way he sounded when you first met him, with his voice saying “sir yes sir” every sentence he speaks. It only changes at night, when comforting each other. 

You are more or less zoning he fuck out when he asks you a question.

Huh. Questions. He doesn’t do that often. Most of his efforts at socialization are typically made through a process of summarizing angrily what he understands of a situation until someone corrects him. 

Anyway. Back to the question. Whatever it was.

“What?”

Karkat looks at you with disappointment. 

“You really don’t care, do you? I thought I was making my point rather interesting, but no. You are a lost cause. Have you ever fallen in love?”  
“I..uh…not that I remember…like what do you mean by ‘falling in love’ anyway?”

“You’d know if you had been listening. I was just talking about how hard it is to define being in love, because most of the elements we expect from it can be present in other types of relationships. Attachment, for example, is clearly present in friendship, though often most intense in romantic love. Lust can be present in a wide range of cases not always involving feelings. There is always this sort of flame, flustering and lack that is always present in those novels, though sometimes absent from real life romantic relationship. Or present only in part. And if you had a relationship with all of the components of a romantic relationship without this sort of addiction, can you really say you have been in love?”

“you…I..uh…”

“Eloquent.”

You shrug.

“Hey, this is kind of outside of my typical subject of thoughts, (untrue), so maybe I don’t have much of an opinion on the subject? Somewhere…yeah, I think you can have a relationship without that but also those feelings are kind of hard to control, they often happen in situations they can’t be reciprocated…and that’s just sad.”

Karkat stops right in the middle of the hallway, staring at you.

“Whenever that happened to you…did you even _try_ to make it happen or did you just give up because you were scared?”

__The way he looks at you he is judging you with those eyes of “why can’t you say what you mean, Strider”._ _

__“Because if it really wasn’t reciprocated, than I understand. It happens. But knowing you, you probably stood there like an idiot waiting for the other to make the first move.”_ _

__Touché._ _

__At this moment you get the shadow of a wonderful yet terrifying doubt._ _

__What if he knows?_ _

__He probably doesn’t feel the same way about you, but you’ve got to be honest you have been particularly terrible at hiding your stares and your subtle absence of “no homo” gestures towards him. Not to mention you have probably been holding on to him a little harder than necessary at night._ _

__In this case he is probably referring to this particular situation._ _

__If that’s true, then he is openly inviting you to confess._ _

__If he’s openly inviting you to confess, he is either a sadist or shares the same feelings._ _

__Could he be gay? Or like bi, or pan, or whatever he identifies at that makes it so he wanna mack on dudes from time to time. That would be too much of a coincidence._ _

__He…does read that women porn pretty consistently. That’s, like, not even a subtle clue. And he knows how to French braid because he does it to Terezi, since she can’t do it herself and nor can Vriska.  
And here you go trying to analyse stereotypes like a douche._ _

__Hey, you don’t have much else to rely on to try and analyse this situation, ok?_ _

__“Dave?”_ _

__“Huh?”_ _

__“Okay, I understand if you were to zone out during my rambles, but I think we were having a discussion of some sort here.”  
“Yeah. I mean. You’re right. I’m terrified of rejection which is why I never make the first move. You win. What can I do about it?”_ _

__He’s stepping closer to you._ _

__“Man up.”_ _

__“Oh yeah, of course, sorry ‘bout that, lemme just go and flail my balls at the next chick…or dude…I’m flustered for. Got it.”_ _

__You notice his pupils dilate incredulously when you admit the possibility of you being into guys. You basically just came out to your best bro who is standing three inches from your face.  
And he knows. God does he knows. _ _

__Doesn’t seem to turn him down, though. On the contrary. Your blood pressure is already high because of what you just admitted, and it is doubly so when you realize he’s inching forward to kiss you.  
And then it doesn’t go down one notch but practically starts flowing in the other direction when you realize there is a warden just around the corner. _ _

__It is too late to stop Karkat. You resist closing your eyes and giving into the kiss, but you can’t bring yourself to try and push him off brutally. Glare unwillingly locking with the guardian of bad timing, a familiar one, the same one that caught the two of you cuddling on your bunk that morning, you rip your crush off you like a band aid you don’t have the guts to remove at once, with the same amount of pain.  
Except band aids when you rip them off don’t look at you panicked and hurt like they just drastically misread the situation._ _

__Your blood needs to decide on whether it is boiling or freezing, seriously._ _

__In any case it is pulsing through your head so fast you are afraid you might faint. You want to say something, but you are frozen by your compromising position and you bite your tongue.  
Literally, though. You clench your jaw and brutally chew on your lingual muscle with a subsequent “ow”. _ _

__Karkat steps back and gets the fuck out in the opposite direction, not even noticing the warden on his way out._ _

__You’d be marvelling over how absurd this whole situation is if you weren’t busy trying to hold yourself upright, breathe and not see stars._ _

__You’d have a bitter taste in your mouth if it wasn’t already so salty/iron-y.  
Irony. That’s the term you’re looking for. _ _

__And the warden is still there and you have to confront that.  
You spit a mix of saliva, blood and a bit of your tongue on the floor. Wow. You didn’t miss yourself on that._ _

__“I am going to the infirmary,” you almost don’t stutter._ _

__Cool face._ _

___The warden watches you go with suspicion. You just don’t flinch. In fact, you stay surprisingly composed all the way to the infirmary._  
There, some dude makes you wait until Rose who was passing by sees you and decides to take you with her.  
She sits you down on some dreary chair, open your bleeding mouth and starts asking you questions all the while your jaw is stretched to the maximum.  
“How did you even manage to bite your tongue like that? Or were you the one to do it? If you missed me you could just ask, you know, no need to visit me at my job. Anyway.”  
She releases your jaw leaves for a few seconds before returning with a cup of water and an empty bowl.  
“Just wash your mouth to avoid swallowing too much blood, there is not much else I can do for you, tongues heal fairly easily even if you really didn’t miss yourself on that one.”  
You gargle yourself with the water and she looks around to make sure no one is paying attention to her, then pulls out a flask and gulps down easily a certain amount of alcohol. 

__“Rose?”_ _

__“yeah?”_ _

__“When you were young…around fourteen-fifteen…did you live in the city?”_ _

__“No. I lived up North. In a pretty rural area. Why?”_ _

__“You didn’t travel down south? Let’s say in the summer? And take the subway?”_ _

__“I don’t remember…maybe? Why on earth would it matter?”_ _

__“I remember a girl I saw at that time…she looked just like you.”_ _

__“A lot of people look alike, Dave. Heck, we even kind of look alike. Besides, back in the days I dressed like an emo wannabe edgelord…long skirt and choker and all purple and black.”_ _

__“That’s exactly what I remember.”_ _

__“Weird. Well. My mom would bring me around the country every summer, I went places, don’t remember in what order. Maybe you saw me.”_ _

__“And you don’t remember me? Rose, you practically eye fucked me. Your mom wasn’t there. We held eye contact for a solid five to ten minutes, I remember it like it was yesterday.”_ _

__“And it didn’t occur to you to say it to me before now? Dave, I think you may need to rest. Go back to your cell.”_ _

__“Wait no, I’m sure that…oh, fuck, I can’t go back to my cell. God. I fucked up. Rose. I’m an idiot.”_ _

__She sighs._ _

__“Big news. Now what is it? Romantic problems with Karkat?”_ _

__“How do you know?”_ _

__“I have eyes. They may, in fact, not even have been necessary to know that because even Terezi inferred that from the two of you.”_ _

__“I could say the same thing of you and Kanaya.”_ _

__“But I wouldn’t act shocked, because I already know that.”_ _

__“He kissed me.”_ _

__“Cool. Glad this is moving along well.”_ _

__“Then I pushed him away because a guard was watching us.”_ _

__“Dramatic.”_ _

__“Then I bit my tongue and Karkat run away and didn’t even see that I had pushed him away because of that.”_ _

__“Well, how about you go back, tell him it was a mistake, and then have bloody make outs happily ever after? That sounds like a reasonable thing to do.”_ _

__“But Rose…I’m worried. Because of the guard. I don’t think he really approves of…that. We could get into trouble. We don’t have much privacy around here. The authorities already don’t like me. Even with Terezi, we’re not safe from this sort of bad stuff. Being gay isn’t even fucking legal in this country.”_ _

__“Well, it depends which technicalities you are speaking about. While the laws are certainly homophobic, it isn’t _technically_ illegal to be gay…”_ _

__“Rose, I don’t give a fuck.”_ _

__“Just fucking go and use your words, alright?”_ _

__You sigh, resigned._ _

__“alright.”_ _

__“Then go. Fly, Pupa.”_ _

__“What’s a Pupa?”_ _

__“Don’t ask me, it’s Vriska who says this all the time. Now shoo, shoo.”_ _

__You go._ _


	12. Good Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what am I doing.

You come back to your cell and Karkat is not there. 

So, uh.

You guess you’ll sit on the floor and brood a little. The floor is cold. Your fingers wander for something to play with, they eventually find your pocket and you take out your phone. You open the front camera.

Oh, hey there, asshole. Long time no see. You take a pic. 

Then you open your mouth and you try to snapshot your wounded tongue. Sadly, it’s almost already invisible, even if you still feel a certain sting. Plus, taking pictures of your mouth never really give good results. 

Then your mind randomly decides to make your heart clench with the realization of how much you fucked up. You awkwardly try to swallow the knot in your throat with no success. Maybe if you ignore it…

Maybe if you ignore it, Karkat will come back in front of the cell, eyes red, see you, and then immediately walk away.

And now you have to run after him, in the hallway like the bad romance protagonist you are. 

“Karkat!”

He finally stops when you grab his wrists, he avoids looking directly at you, however. 

“I…”you begin.

He cuts you, fumbles, almost spits out,

“I’m sorry, Dave. You don’t have to spare my feelings. I just read too much into this shit, it’s a risk I had to take, right?”

He takes a rugged breath.

He laughs bitterly. Looks down, then back up.

Still not looking at you. Man, that spot on the wall behind you shoulder must be fascinating. The rest of his diatribe sounds like a too-rehearsed oral presentation by a shy third-grader. 

“Like I was the one lecturing you about taking a chance on shit, I should assume my advice. Here you go, prime example of how it can end not very well but at least now I know and I won’t stupidly get my hopes up. It’s probably better like that. I’m sorry if I made thing awkward now…”

3/10 for intonation, 0/10 for eye contact. Were you nervous, kiddo?

You shake your head franctically.

“No no no no no, that’s not it. It’s not. You did not misread the situation. Well, you did, but when I pushed you off. Because I did want to kiss you. I do. But it’s dangerous here. A guard saw us. And he did not look happy. I also may or may not have spat on the floor in front of him. I don’t want to put you in a risky situation. You understand?”

Karkat’s brows frown, confused. Then he shakes his head and gently takes his arm out of your grasp. 

“It’s nice of you to try and spare my feelings, Dave, but not necessary. I wouldn’t bother or resent you if you told me the truth. I see where you’re coming from, but it’s not necessary.”  
He’s not listening to you.

“Karkat…”

He turns on his heels and dramatically walks away. You open up your arms in disbelief.

“What? I…I’m not…what the…”

But he’s already gone. 

 

 

 

You are peeling potatoes and Kanaya is biting her lip trying not to laugh at your story. You’re trying not to pout because that would be childish, but you do feel somewhat humiliated, you have no idea what to do about whatever the fuck happened.

It was the most uncool moment of your life. You’d find it more funny if it wasn’t so tragic for both you and Karkat. The poor guy thinking he fucked up royally. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard something quite so typically Karkat in a while, if I am being honest with you,” Kanaya says. “And I cannot say whether he completely believes that you are lying, or whether he is just unconsciously trying to add yet another romantic fiasco to his list. Either is plausible. The guy is nearly masochistic when it comes to romance.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“ _nearly_ masochistic?”

Kanaya laughs. 

You sigh. 

“In the meantime, I have no clue what to do about the, uh, situation,” you admit.

Kanaya shrugs. 

“You would probably know if you were even slightly more familiar with romantic comedies, knowing him. Just,” she shrugs again. “Try telling him again. Or initiate a gesture.”

“What if he thinks again it’s just because I pity him?”

“Do it again. And again.”

You nod quietly. 

 

 

 

That night, he leaves his blanket on your bed but goes to sleep in his own bunk, looking away from you. 

You don’t quite take it personally, and when he does it you don’t oppose, but when the light goes off, and the guards have made their last round, you take a deep breath.

Slowly, you walk out of your bunk, and you take his blanket with you. He’s not asleep. His breath shortens when he realizes you are approaching him. He doesn’t move. You place a hand on his shoulder.

“You said it was dangerous, shitnuts. Stick to your excuses. I don’t need the blanket.”  
“I can wake up and change bunks before the bells come to wake us up,” you say the most tenderly you can.

He doesn’t respond, but you think you can hear a refrained sob in his breathing.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” you say as you lay the blanket on him. 

Alea jacta est.  
You get in the bed with him.

He’s facing the wall, so you end up spooning him, breathing the less creepily you can down his neck. You feel him relax a bit, for some reason, and so do you. You pet his hair, quietly, you don’t say anything.

“You just like me because we spend so much time together,” he whispers.

“It’s hard to like someone you don’t know very well, but you don’t end up liking every person you spend a lot of time with, do you?” you answer.

“I want to go home,” he says.

“We’ll go home together.”

“And the war will end.”

“It will. We’ll be freed by our allies, brought home in festivities.”

“What does it change if we win or lose the war?”

“It changes whether it’s them who end up happy. Or us.”

“Were you happy before the war?”

“No. You?”

“Me neither.”

You continue to pet his hair softly, as he speaks. You like its texture under your fingers.

But he moves. He turns his body towards you, your face mere centimeters from one another. In the vague moonlight piercing through the window comes just enough light to see his eyes. They’re looking at you, attentive, expectant. Hopeful.

You shuffle you head on the pillow towards him, press your lips together, softly. 

The kiss is still, tender. Picture-like. Then your lips break apart.

“You like me,” he says.

“Yeah.”


End file.
